Enlightenment
Vas’ eyes followed his moving finger…lurching unevenly from right to left and back again. “How old are you?” the stand in medic asked. “Two blows to the head,” Dorian mused as he considered the punk. Vas reported good balance, and did so without slurring his speech. The headache and the uneven optical track didn’t necessarily spell a mild concussion, but even he knew that the adolescent brain could be inordinately affected by relatively minor trauma. Adler turned toward the pharmacy cabinet. “It’s likely you’ve sustained a minor concussion,” he said as he removed two bottles. After filling a fresh water cup, he handed four pills to Vas. “These are oral anti inflammatories,” he said. They’ll bring down the swelling around yah nose and forehead. “These two,” of offered up another pair, “should knock down the pain and help yah rest.” As Vas swallowed the pills and water, Dorian pulled a small box from a supply drawer. The object he removed from it looked much like the nose guard of an ancient battle helmet from Earth-That-Was. “A protective brace,” he said to the question in the boy’s eyes. “But this one’s a little bit nicer. With gentle pressure, he pushed the item onto Vas’ nose. “The inner lining adheres to yah skin. When Ah opened it, the cold pack function started. The brace protects the nose from further impact, and the coolness will also help with the swelling.” He secured the piece into place with two strips of white cloth tape. “Now,” Dorian lowered his gaze to meet the eyes of his patient. “Go straight to bed. Get a full night’s sleep. Come back to see either Doc Aello or myself aftah breakfast. She’ll want a follow up.” Dorian set to once again scouring the medical bay. He sealed the Fed’s boots and uniform scraps into a waste bag. Once finished, he studied the items Vas had removed from the man’s pockets. “Nothing extraordinary,” he thought, noting that what the Fed kept were more or less the usual items one might find in the pockets of any soldier. “Cigarette case, waterproof,” he thought as he popped the catch. “Complete with three cigarettes and a condom.” The lighter seemed a bit odd at first, an ill designed casing that didn’t seem to fit together well. He flipped the lid with a thumb and rolled the strike, to be rewarded by a small blue flame. Dismissing the appearance as cheap craftsmanship, he tossed it into the bin. Other items the man kept were a standard issue field utility knife with a number of retractable tools, a personal cortex reader, and a hair comb. “Completely unremarkable,” Adler said aloud. In response, the Fed snored. As Dorian went to dump the rest of his things into the small bin, the lighter caught his eye once again. This time it appeared broken, as if his throwing it into the bin had dislodged a side. He examined it more closely, pushing at the loosened panel with a thumb. The side lifted, revealing a tiny screen and a diminutive keyboard on the inner casing. “Isn’t that cute?” Dorian thought as he activated it. The screen glowed. Adler typed in a location sequence. Soon, he was quizzed for his ident codes, which he entered. Five keys…pause…nine keys…pause…three keys…pause…two keys. After a couple of electronic handshakes, he was acknowledged by a host. His host. Report Status “In transit,” he typed. “Firefly Class, m/v Lunar Veil en route Santo. Destination contact?” Negative Dorian frowned, then typed. “Orders?” Your status unconfirmed. Remain in transit. “How reassuring,” he thought to himself as he typed a final question. “This vessel under pursuit from Persephone. Any intel?” No corresponding traffic intercepts. Recommend you destroy any compromising materials. He cocked an eyebrow, then typed “Done.” The transmission abruptly ended, leaving him to ponder the situation. “Well, mah friend,” Dorian muttered to the sleeping Fed, “Time Ah get consensus on your disposition.” Deciding to bypass the captain and go straight to the comely pilot herself, Dorian switched the intercom. “Miss Riley?” he asked. “Ah have something tah show you. Could yah join me in the medbay?”